


Imperial Interests

by GrandAdmiralPoot



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types
Genre: F/M, I hope you like crockpot slowburns, I might give some prologue on the OC, cuz this is gunna be cooked to perfection, so you understand her better
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-17
Updated: 2018-09-17
Packaged: 2019-07-13 12:00:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,035
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16017482
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GrandAdmiralPoot/pseuds/GrandAdmiralPoot
Summary: Atilla Plierre is an engineering intern serving aboard her first destroyer, hoping to build a good reputation for herself and get a permanent placement, if possible. But life's hard, even harder when she keeps drawing the short straw when it comes to none other than Grand Admiral Thrawn.





	Imperial Interests

**Author's Note:**

> So most of this stuff is based off memory from Rebels and shit, sorry if it's not really accurate hahahaha.....I tried :P 
> 
> Not sure where this story leads, but expect lots of cringey garbage and ofc, romance and all that fun, because I have no self control and I love making villains fall hopelessly in love

# Chapter One

 ~ ~ ~

 

 

 

 

  
His mouth was moving, but she couldn't be too sure what he had said. Surely, she had heard wrong?

 

" _Intern Plierre_. Must I repeat myself?" Asked her superior, Chief Engineer Lanbay. The mess hall around her seem to grow smaller with her as she was belittled by his uncaring, supercilious tone. Intern Atilla Plierre averted her eyes and shook her head, flustered. Why did it have to be her, out of all the poor saps in here? Well, she thought darkly, she _knew_ why.

 

"No, sir." The two words fell out and hammered into silence like nails in a coffin—her coffin. Lanbay looked at her with a cruel kind of satisfaction. She clutched her datapad close to her chest with a knuckle-whitening grip as the heavy stone of reality sank through any chance of escape.

 

She realised she had not moved to comply a second too late. The CE pinched the bridge of his nose dramatically, clearly suffering a deficiency in patience—not to mention empathy, and he sighed loud enough that the rooms attention discretely turned on them. "Plierre? Don't make him wait." He warned snidely, "He doesn't appreciate tardiness, and neither do I. Dismissed."

 

This made Atilla's jaw work irritably. She made an effort to be punctual, she was a hard working cog in the empires machine, just like everyone else. Just because she had been a conscript from a Wild Space backplanet entering into the Imperial Academy didn't make her any less of an honorary technician. But there was nothing she could do to help their alienating treatment of her. Nor anything she could do to help her current predicament, lest she defy a superior officer, and no one wanted that kind of debacle to throw a spanner in the Chimaera's fine tuned system—least of all Atilla. She didn't need to smear dirt on her resume. Any more of it, anyway.

 

Nevertheless, as Atilla's worn leather boots carried her with no small amount of uncertainty to the task at hand, she could not help but swallow stiffly. This was it, she was going to have to do it.

 

She was going to have to face the mysterious inhuman Grand Admiral all by herself.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

She waited outside his office with her knuckles poised to knock, pensive. Every fibre of her being told her not to enter. There was something that spoke to her in the hairs on the nape of her neck, warning her about unforeseen dangers. Atilla's skin broke out into goose flesh against the sensation of foreboding beating in and out of focus around her, and a severe feeling knotted deep in her gut. Atilla had a secret, and sometimes that secret gave her little nudges. Though this one was more like a shove in the opposite direction. Somehow she understood the weight of this relatively menial task. Knocking on this particular door would be like knocking on fates door. Suddenly she inhaled and retracted her hand, having had a change of heart, she stepped away. No, someone else could answer this call.

 

But as Atilla tried to elude the hooks of destiny, chaotically flying out and searching for purchase, it seemed one managed to hit its mark. Choice slipped through her fingers until not a single ' _if_ ' or ' _but_ ' remained. The pressurised door bleeped shrilly, automatic locks unclicking, and then all at once the Grand Admiral appeared in a hydrolic hiss. She felt a bolt of guilty fear skitter through her like electricity. She had just been about to leave, about to do something quite punishable. His eyes met hers and she knew, fate had indeed been answered, for better or for worse.

 

There was silence at first. Immediately Atilla noted that the man was huge, nevermind his obvious other traits. He looked down upon her, and she had to crane her neck back. Atilla was not a tall woman. In fact, she was rather short. That was another thing that her merciless colligues used as munition against her. But Atilla couldn't think too hard on their clever little words when she had the crimson stare of Grand Admiral Thrawn boring into her. An uncomfortable shiver ran down the length of her and perspiration gathered in the small of her back, she gulped. She tried to mask the unease that writhed just beneath her skin, though the longer this wordless exchange dragged on, the more transparent Atilla became. Sooner or later someone had to break the stalemate.

 

"Forgive me," he suddenly said, his voice cool, and she tensed exponentially. "May I help you?"

 

Atilla bit her lip as she did when her nerves were getting to her. She thought she saw his eyes follow the movement. "Yes, sir. You requested the destroyer's performance and diagnostics report." In a bid to reclaim some confidence, it was a statement and not a question.

 

The calculating eyes studied her for a while longer in such a way that was akin to an interrogation, or at least what she imagined an interrogation to be like. She felt her face and neck warm self-consciously in spite of her efforts to control the reaction. Who wouldn't feel nervous under such astute observation? And no less with said observer being someone as infamous as Thrawn. And he certainly was infamous. His reputation proceeded him in the IA, and not at all in a complimentary way. They said he was a sadist. They said he was a monster. But then he was suddenly turning in the archway to his antechamber and extending his arm, politely inviting her to her doom. She prayed that the stories weren't true.

 

"Join me." He said cordially. She purposefully ignored the way his deep voice spoke to her in places other than her ears. And of course, she ignored the way she brushed past his finely kept uniform as she stepped in, and the way his eyes tracked her. It was just nerves, she reasoned, wetting her lips.

 

Beyond the antechamber, his office itself was nothing like Atilla had imagined. The room was filled with pieces of colourful art, some were the original, hunks of cut stone or crude material, while others were digital copies. Waning from the back wall was a curved counter, and behind that a stylised sculpture of two lizard like creatures. Shimmering above the desks centre holoprojector was a blue orrery of a large sector of space which she was unfamiliar with, but he had apparently drawn many connections between the systems.

 

The door closing and automatically locking behind her seemed like the final nail in that coffin of hers. She could sense him moving beyond her field of view and she clutched her datapad more tightly than ever as she awaited something sinister. But something sinister never came. Instead, Thrawn casually walked to the desk and sat down, killing the various projections and awakening the overhead lights with a blasé wave from his blue skinned hand. Atilla couldn't decide if she was more surprised by his plainness or his distinct unusualness.

 

"Take a seat." The Admiral gestured to the swivel chair resting on the other side of his desk, and Atilla wordlessly obeyed. Though, she wasn't sure why he had invited her into the office in the first place; she easily could have handed him what he needed at the door and been on to her next assignment. Frowning somewhat, she decided to assume the GA treated all his guests in this manner.

 

"Thankyou, sir." Atilla forcefully smiled, adding, "The Chief Engineer sends his regards."

 

Thrawn's lips pressed into a tight line. He steepled his fingers, contemplating. What are you thinking about? The words were on the tip of Atilla's tongue. Certainly, an engineering intern did not warrant this kind of interest. So why was she here, still? Maybe she might have asked, but he was suddenly reaching across his desk, fingers splayed open in an enquiring manner. The movement unsettled Atilla enough that it took her a fat moment to realise his subliminal request, and then she gingerly unhooked her numb fingers from the datapad (had she really been holding it that tightly?) and handed it to him. Ever so briefly, his skin brushed hers and Atilla felt as though a current had zapped her, she flinched away. The Grand Admiral, however, didn't seem fazed at all. Or if he was, he didn't show any outward signs.

 

With his attention otherwise occupied, Atilla took the precious time to calm her breathing. He wasn't so bad when those eyes were looking somewhere other than her. She found herself drawn to his face, even as her mind screamed at her not to. She'd heard some pretty outlandish descriptions of the GA. The lower rungs of the ship, where she often did repairs for experience, were thick with webs of scuttlebutt, mostly originating from the gossip of storm troopers. Since none of them really saw the Grand Admiral much, there was a lot of room for theatrical dramatisation. He didn't have claws, that's for sure. He didn't have horns either—or fangs. One detail that certainly was true, however, was of course his eerie blood red gaze. And he was also blue-skinned, but honestly Atilla thought he looked more or less human. His facial structure was unusual but too familiar of hominids to be anything but, and not unattractive either. His dark hair was thick and combed back immaculately. Truth be told, he was actually quite a handsome man. What? Atilla suddenly blushed, even though he was still perusing the report. She couldn't believe she had openly thought something like that about someone, right in front of their face.

 

This went on for a good thirty minutes. He didn't speak, he just scrolled through the datapads pages, searching for something. But what was he looking for? Well, none of this was her business anymore, anyway. Nervously, she wondered if she should have excused herself half an hour ago, and the reason the GA had not addressed her was because he was trying to enunciate the obvious. Her fingers drummed her thighs as she grew increasingly uncomfortable. Eventually, Atilla cleared her throat, attempting to get his attention. But he was either so engrossed in his thoughts that he did not hear her or he simply did not care. More likely the latter, she supposed sadly. Most superiors didn't care much for the humble intern.

 

But Atilla would rather get back to Landbay before he told her off for dilly dallying. Because there was no way he would believe the Grand Admiral had her sit at his desk for nearly an hour, now. So she took a deep breath and steadied her heartbeat, mumbling, "Um, sir?"

 

He looked up then, thankfully. "Yes?" His face was controlled in such a way that suggested he was frustrated by his findings, although his voice betrayed none of it.

 

"Well, sir, I hoped that—since you have your records, that I could return to—"

 

"You wish to be dismissed." He interrupted pragmatically, and she tried not to shrink under the cold heat of his gaze. He was very intimidating.

 

"Please, sir." She said a bit too quietly.

 

Something in his eyes changed. Although it was only a minute tell, she knew a predator was now staring back at her, if only from the alarm that prickled through her. The word _careful_ circulated her mind like the blood pumping in her veins. She felt the aura around him morph into the shape of the legendary asharl panther, limbs taught and ready to pounce upon its prey. Except she was the prey. His jaw muscles twitched, and suddenly the expression vanished, replaced by a small, imperceptibly honest smile. How did he do that? She felt the edge of panic instinctively dull at his reassurance, though Atilla made a point of remembering the wolfish gleam in his eye that had shone through not moments before.

 

"Dismissed." He purred, his tone friendly as though to compensate for the brief lapse in control.

 

"Thankyou, Grand Admiral." She said rushedly, trying to conceal the redness blooming on her face again she stood up to make her leave.

 

"Just a moment, actually." Thrawn called a second before she could reach the door. She felt a bead of sweat collect on her forehead and slide down her temple. She also got the impression that he controlled the locks, personally.

 

"Yes, sir?" replied Atilla bleakly as she half-turned.

 

"What is your name?" On reflex she flinched, remembering the many times officers had asked the same question in order to humiliate her publicly.

 

Part of her wanted to lie. But, Atilla tried to reason, remember that pretty resume. More importantly, she countered with herself, why did he want to know? The crono on his desk ticked, bringing her attention back to the moment, and she was running out of time to self evaluate. So plucking up the courage, Atilla squared her shoulders.

 

"Engineering Intern Plierre, sir." She said proudly.

 

He didn't exactly smile this time, per say, but something about his taught features seemed to soften. Atilla wondered if it was genuine. "You are dismissed, Ms Plierre."

 

Awkwardly, and in lack of a more appropriate parting gesture, Atilla saluted him. The Grand Admiral's eyebrows pinched in the middle but she couldn't care less if he thought her eccentric, now that she was free to leave and (hopefully) never come back.

 

Oh, if only fate were so generous...

 

An innocent flickering in the lights was the only fore warning they got before a low winding hum shuddered through the walls of the office, and then they were in darkness. Atilla couldn't help her traitorous gasp as she all but threw herself at the pressurised door, her fists hitting the durasteel with the echoing bang of certitude. No! She wanted to scream, but Atilla had enough composure to reel her 'cornered animal' behaviour in from crossing that line. It wasn't that bad, there was still hope, right? Feeling along the ridge of the door for the manual override, her heart dropped to the floor when instead she found smooth wall. No manual override. No power.

 

She was stuck in this impervious metal box with Grand Admiral Thrawn.

 

The auxiliary powered lights blinked on from the ceiling, casting a vermillion glow to coat the chamber. She could feel he was looking at her. Slowly, Atilla turned to face him. She could have reacted a little smoother, that much she could confess. But Atilla had to wonder: just how much could she trust him?

 

Something she certainly was not anticipating when her eyes met his was the bare undertone of glumness about them. It was a tired, old kind of look. He blinked, and it was gone.

 

The alert tone on his commlink broke the staring contest and she straightened her utility slacks diffidently. Some captain on the bridge was explaining that the ship had hit some unknown space turbulence and that had short circuited the mainframe. Atilla eavesdropped gingerly. The emergency life support system could last them roughly a week, but her co-workers were sensibly restoring power to those essential mechanisms first and foremost. She sighed at the sense of ineluctability shrouding her.

 

That meant she was probably going to be in here awhile.

 

To add her misfortune, the absence of temperature stabilisers was already duly notable. Her jumpsuit wasn't much protection on its own. They were designed to be breathable and non-insulated, since her internship was to be completed solely on-ship, where the conditions were always set at human standards. Well, she sure was wishing she had been sorted into the naval division  now. Trembling slightly, Atilla cradled herself in her meagre arms, trying in vain to stave off the biting cold of deep space. She chanced a glance at the GA as her teeth began chattering, and was surprised to see that Thrawn, on the other hand, seemed more comfortable than ever. Though, she supposed, he hailed from the Unknown Regions, right? All sorts of weird characters out that way, there was reason behind the name.

 

When the comm conversation ended, silence suffused the office and Atilla pressed her lips together when she came under his attention again. He regarded her indifferently for a moment, and then he was moving in the reddened shadows. He didn't say anything as he came to a small shelving unit nestled in to its own slide-door cubicle. He returned with a mass of fabric in his hands and approached her, all but gliding across the office with his smooth stride. Atilla felt fixed in place by his unyielding gaze. It was so calm and always seemed half-lidded. The closer he got, the more she mused the distant notion that it was almost magnetic. Mutinously, she looked down at his lips, which were moving. Wait, what? Suddenly she realised he had spoken, bringing her wayward thoughts into sharp focus.

 

"Sorry?" Atilla blinked at him, and his brows knitted together again.

 

"Allow me to repeat." He said temperately, "You seem cold, Ms Plierre." He presented to her his gift, and she realised it was a woollen quilt made from the pelt of some kind of chionophile. Oh.

 

"I guess it is a bit chilly, sir." She admitted sheepishly through chattering teeth, to which he wordlessly unfolded the blanket and wrapped it around her. Atilla shivered, though it had nothing to do with the cold this time. "Thank-you." She mumbled awkwardly, her face burning scarlet. She was really glad for the auxiliary lights.

 

The GA fixed her with a shrewd look. "Do not suffer for the expense of pride, Intern." Atilla's eyes widened. His hands which had paused on her shoulders with a strangely comforting weight lifted, and then he went back to his desk. Atilla let out a small sigh, whether because she was relieved or left wanting for that weight to return, she didn't want to know.

 

"I imagine we will be here for the night." He said without looking up from his reading. She was still standing where he had left her, hugging herself in his quilt. "Make yourself at home."

 

"I'll try my best, sir." She replied wearily. This was going to be a long night.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Let me know what you think.... (;


End file.
